Apart
by EbonyKittyCat552
Summary: Finrod can't help but think about his beloved across the sea, can't help but wish he could be with her again someday soon


This is sort of angsty I guess, but I have a fondness for Findaráto which prompted me to write this... I mean, I like a lot of the elves, but he's one of my favorites (I almost cried when he got killed *sniffle*)

Anyway... His story is fascinating and I couldn't help myself

Warning: not much in this one... just thinking and heart-to-heart stuff lol

Disclaimer: Findaráto and the other elves belong to Tolkien, not to me *sighness* Curufin's wife was my creation though (because she's not mentioned anywhere in the book)

(Btw: Findaráto = Finrod, Tyelcormo = Celegorm and Curufinwë = Curufin, for those of you who are not familiar with their Quenya names)

* * *

It had been a very long time since he'd seen her, since he'd touched her golden hair or seen her sunny smile. In fact, her face was beginning to become blurry in his memories, something that scared him far more than he was willing to admit. There wasn't even a picture of her to spare that could remind him of the way her eyebrows arched just so and how her upper lip was fuller than the lower. Such trivial items would not have survived the treacherous journey across the Helcaraxë anyhow.

Pain burned through his chest just thinking about her. Findaráto did not like to think about her very much at all, but his restless mind always wound itself back around to her somehow. Not a day had gone by…

Sighing, Findaráto gulped down the rest of the wine that he'd been swirling in the basin of his goblet since late afternoon. It was dark outside now. The wine was warm.

The goblet hit the tabletop with an audible _clank_ as he almost violently set it down. The elf-lord felt oddly anxious, and he pushed himself to his feet. Surely his cousins must be around here somewhere, right? Perhaps Tyelcormo and Curufinwë would be able to distract him, at least for a short time.

Findaráto's blue eyes saw little as his feet carried him down the endless underground chambers that made up his city, this place that seemed like something out of his dreams. It reminded him of Doriath, which he had seen little of for many years. He supposed his sister was still there with her beau (may the stupid silver-haired git rot). Findaráto found that he didn't wish to think about her much either.

Turning another corner, his eyes caught firelight flickering about him in the otherwise dark chambers. A familiar dark head could be seen over the edge of one of the chairs set before the fire.

Drawing closer, Findaráto peered over the other elf's shoulder, spotting what captivated the other's attention so much. It brought home to his heart the very feelings he'd been trying (and failing) to avoid for most of the afternoon and evening. His eyes were half-hooded as he gazed down at the tiny picture set in a thick golden locket, one which he knew never left his cousin's neck even on pain of death (not to say that anyone had ever threatened to kill him if he didn't remove it, of course).

The elf-maiden in the picture was not the prettiest he'd ever seen in his lifetime. Having seen Lúthien in the flesh, well, it was hard to imagine any maiden being prettier (even though he believed his _own_ beloved to be a hundred times more radiant as the girl-child of Elwë). Nevertheless, the maiden in the small portrait was naturally pretty with a small nose and very large green eyes, full lips and a wide smile. Her black hair was rather wispy; some of it had escaped the coiffure atop her head and hung down in little waves that brushed her rosy cheeks. He knew without asking who _that_ was, despite never having seen the picture before or having met his cousin's elusive wife. She, like his own beloved, had chosen to stay behind.

When his shadow wavered over the small painting, the elf in the chair jerked. The locket snapped shut and was shoved down his cousin's undershirt for safekeeping. Fiery silver eyes glared up at him. "Cousin, was there something you needed?"

He wanted to snap that there was no reason for Curufinwë to be so unpleasant, but decided it was beneficial to keep his mouth shut on the matter. "I merely found myself in a spot of boredom and decided to seek out my _favorite_ cousins. Is that a crime?" Not waiting for an answer, Findaráto plopped down in the adjacent chair beside the fire. He didn't look at his cousin. His emotions felt far too raw, and he was worried that Curufinwë would read him far too easily.

_Is that a bad thing?_

Under normal circumstances, he'd say yes, it was, but right now… he just fancied someone to talk to… about…

His blue eyes flashed up at his cousin's hard face, which was currently devoid of emotion, caught in the golden firelight. It was far too pale for his liking, as if Curufinwë hadn't spent enough time in the sun even though Findaráto _knew_ he had. His typically snappish cousin looked rather lost in thought, his silvery eyes distant.

_He must be thinking about her._ Findaráto was almost sorry he'd interrupted. Almost, but not quite.

"You miss her," he whispered before he thought better of the words.

Curufinwë's eyes shot towards him, away from the fire. He didn't look pleased to be addressed in such a manner (not that he ever appeared pleased to be addressed in any manner by Findaráto). "I do not see what it should matter to you what I think about, cousin," he snarled. However, Findaráto wasn't an ambassador for nothing. He could see that his cousin's typical malice was rather insincere this eve.

"I was just—"

"I do not care," Curufinwë interrupted quickly. "If all you came here to do was bother me, you should _leave_."

Leaning back, Findaráto frowned. "I miss Amarië as well."

Silver eyes narrowed on his face, and his cousin's lips pulled into a tight frown reminiscent of those Findaráto had seen on his uncle Fëanáro the few times he'd actually gotten close enough to see the elf-prince's face. Curufinwë greatly resembled his father in face, but not very much in personality. The silver eyes softened slightly.

"No one likes to be parted from their loved ones," he commented dryly, trying to sound nonchalant.

This was a rare moment of neutrality between them, and Findaráto did not want to waste it. "If you ever need someone to speak with…"

A bitter laugh burst from his cousin's lips. "I see… I think _you_ need someone to speak with more than I, cousin," he mocked softly. He wasn't really being cruel, though, despite his words. "Do you suppose she shall wait for you, hm?"

"I hope so…" It was barely a whisper. Findaráto found his heart pounding in his chest at a more rapid rate than normal, and thumping in his ears.

"Is that the reason why the _King of Nargothrond_ has yet to find a sweet elf-maiden to produce an heir?" Curufinwë turned back to the fire, his eyes distant once more. "It would be safer, would it not be?"

Findaráto didn't particularly care about having an heir. He'd leave the whole damn place to his nephew! He told his cousin so.

Curufinwë chuckled. It sounded hollow. "I hope you meet her again, one day."

Nodding, Findaráto basked in the faint camaraderie he shared with his cousin. Being a Fëanorion made Curufinwë's company generally unwanted, but Findaráto still wanted to heal the rift between their families. He might have been the only one.

Pushing those thoughts away—they were probably ludicrous anyway—he turned back to thoughts of his beloved Amarië. There was a great ocean between them, and a war and a curse. He truly did wonder if he'd ever see her again, or if they'd be apart forever. Surely the Valar would not be so cruel…?

But then he glanced at his cousin, who was apart from everyone and everything.

He would have to pray for their mercy, because he knew for certain that they _could_ be so cruel. Curufinwë was a murderer and a traitor, but he loved his wife. If his brothers never reclaimed those thrice-damned jewels, he would probably never see her again, not until the end of the world as they knew it anyway.

Findaráto wondered how his cousin could live with that knowledge. Only the thought that he might be with Amarië one day again kept him from giving up hope. Curufinwë had not even that left to live for.

* * *

I guess I always feel kinda sorry for the Feanorions... they all kinda got screwed over, didn't they (though, admittedly, some of them weren't the nicest guys on the planet, I've never imagined them being _evil_, at least, not at first)

Review if you wish to


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